Under the Weather
by MADsensei1
Summary: Called to a late night rendezvous, Hogan finds himself deep within what may be the most important mission of his life. Not to mention the lives of millions ... ANOTHER UPDATE! (Ooh, this might become a habit!)
1. Not So Fast, Colonel

Author's note: First time fic (really). No beta -- maybe I'm a fool or just a crazy risk-taker. Either way, sorry for any annoying mistakes. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated, but please ... be gentle. It's my first time. Also, I have absolutely no medical background. Not sure if anything I wrote here is even possible, but hey, who knew a major covert operation could be run out of the "toughest stalag of all of Germany" either?

Disclaimer: I make no claims to Hogan and gang. 'Cause if I did, I'd drive something better than a 10 year old Geo Metro. Also, not sure who owns Sgt. Wilson the medic. I've always loved that character. If you e-mail me, I'll make sure to credit you. If you don't want me to use him, I'll respect your request - just let me know.

THANKS! And enjoy ...

Under the Weather

Chapter 1: Not So Fast, Colonel

Other than the gentle sounds of water dripping somewhere in the long vast darkness, the underground tunnel held the eerie silence appropriate for its location – deep down below several feet of frozen ground and snow. Of course, it being just after 2:00 AM on a cold winter morning and it being hidden under the "toughest Luftwaffe Stalag in all of Germany", the silence was doubly appropriate.

Suddenly, a dull metallic sound of a hatchway echoed through the maze of tunnels, making Sgt. James Kinchloe jump up from his post in front of the "prisoners'" hidden radio. As he moved to meet his friends and fellow conspirators, his headphones began to vibrate with the sounds of an incoming message. Sitting quickly back down, his attention was redirected.

Slowly one, two, three and eventually four individuals inconspicuously dressed in black, made their way down the wooden ladder to the dirt tunnel floor. Col. Robert Hogan, playing look-out and always the last to re-enter the tunnel, swung the "tree-stump" hatchway closed and secured it firmly behind him. The deadbolt clicked. As if on cue, the other three men broke out into what can only be called good old-fashioned bickering.

"Dammit Carter!" Corp. Peter Newkirk yelled indignantly. "You big ofe! Can't you climb down a bloody ladder without stepping on my hand?"

Sgt. Andrew Carter, who usually kept a laid-back friendly attitude, turned slowly around and said in a voice tight with tension, "Look Corporal," making sure to emphasize the hardly used title that distinguished their differences in rank. "If you moved faster as ordered, maybe you'd be able to protect those precious pick-pocketing fingers of yours!"

Newkirk fumed. Moving forward to smack Carter on his head, as he usually would have, he noticed the uncharacteristically serious look on Carter's face and quickly reconsidered.

Corp. Louis LeBeau, however, was sick of it all and jumped in between the two men condemning them both in that way that the French do so well; his words too quick and too sharp for any of them to even begin to understand, yet dramatic and condescending enough to understand the meaning.

"Shut up, you frog! Mind your own bloody business!!" Newkirk yelled, poking LeBeau with his supposedly injured finger.

"Yeah, go … go, uh … go bake a soufflé or something, why don't ya?!" Carter yelled, like an annoying eight-year old.

LeBeau, yelled back as well, and even if you didn't speak French, you knew he was not being complimentary.

Sighing heavily, Col. Hogan sat down on a lower rung of the wooden ladder. From there he simply watched the scene unfold before him. He knew why the men were behaving like this. They were reacting to what he too felt at that precise moment – complete and utter exhaustion. It had been a long week. A very very long week. The records would eventually show that from within the confines of a prison of war camp, he and his crew managed to help two allied men get out of Germany, steal the blue-prints of a jet propulsion engine, sabotage a nearby supply depot AND blow-up a strategically placed transport bridge – all within the span of eight days. 'Yup', he thought, 'It had been a very long week indeed.'

Sighing again, Hogan decided it was time to put a stop to the senseless bickering. He was simply too tired to endure anymore yelling and his pounding head would explode if it continued. "ENOUGH!" he belted out, using his best "Colonel-like" voice.

Instantly, Carter, Newkirk and LeBeau fell silent.

"Look," he continued wearily, "I know you're tired. We're all tired. If there's anyone here who'd know that, it's me." To give them credit, all three men looked down sheepishly at this rare admission from their leader. "So, of course we're bound to be on edge. But know this …" Hogan looked carefully at each of his men. "We've done a good job here. A damn good job. And each and every one of us should be proud of that fact."

With this realization dawning on them, the group began to smile and nod their heads in agreement.

"And once we've had a couple good nights sleep, we'll be able to see things more clearly and appreciate our success. Right?"

The three nodded again, knowing the colonel was right, of course. The mood had definitely lightened, if not the overwhelming exhaustion.

"Well," Hogan got up and began tugging off his black jacket. "I don't know about you guys, but all I want to do right now is to get out of this get-up and slip into my nice lumpy moth-eaten bed."

"Uh, not so fast, Colonel, "Kinch called out as he entered from the radio room. "This just came in from London marked Immediate Action." He handed his clipboard to the colonel, failing to hide a look of frustration and concern.

Hogan quietly read the transmission, then closed his eyes, sighed yet again, and leaned heavily against the damp dirt wall.

"Please mon Colonel, what is it?" Asked LeBeau looking from Hogan to Kinch and then back again.

After a pause, Hogan opened his eyes and read, "Rendezvous with new contact, codename "Humpty-Dumpty" at Lily Pad 4 by 0300 hrs today. High priority. No delay."

Again, as if on cue, all three men started complaining simultaneously.

"Bloody hell, Gov'nor! We just got back in. Not even a chance to rest my aching feet."

"Sacre bleu! It's freezing out there! My hands are frostbitten, see. How can I cook with frozen hands?!"

"Ah come on, Sir, its got to be at least four miles to Lily Pad 4. We're going to have to run the whole way just to get there on time!"

Hogan slowly put his hands up to quiet the group. "Don't worry guys. We're not going to have to go anywhere."

Confused faces looked back at him. Disobeying an order, especially one so urgently marked was not the colonel's style. To give him a break, Kinch stepped in. "The orders stated Col. Hogan is to go alone."

Naturally, the men balked. "What?!" "You've got to be kidding?" "It's too dangerous to go alone, Sir!"

Zipping up his jacket again and already moving towards the ladder, Hogan turned to the four and said, "Okay, orders are orders and if I'm to make that meeting on time, I'm going to have to get going now. Gentlemen, if I'm not back by morning roll-call," he glanced at his watch and grimaced, "You'll have to stall ol' monical-head for me. Okay? But I'll try to be back before then. And don't worry. I'll be fine."

And with a final look and nod of his head, he was up the ladder, out the hatchway and into the darkness of night.


	2. You've Got to Be Kidding

Thanks for the reviews! This is fun!

Under the Weather

Chapter 2: You've Got to Be Kidding

Hogan didn't think he had it in him, but somehow he had managed to gather enough strength and run the three miles in freezing weather to "Lily Pad 4" just in time for the 0300 hr meeting. He was beat and out of breath, but he was there as scheduled.

Approaching the abandoned farmhouse slowly, Hogan was suddenly grabbed from behind, hearing the unmistakable sound of rifles being cocked. Still trying to catch his breath, he swallowed loudly, feeling the arm around his neck tighten. From his left he heard a voice that although lowered to a rough whisper, still sounded familiar. It said in German, _"Wagner disliked schnitzel and sour kraut."_ Immediately Hogan recognized the code phrase from the transmission. In his tired and stressed out mind he search for the correct response. Sweat poured down his back despite the freezing winds. Impatiently the arm around his neck tightened again.

Finally, Hogan croaked out between gritted teeth, _"But the big man is said to have enjoyed strudel."_ With that stupid phrase said, the arm loosened and released it's strangle hold.

Pissed off at his man-handling, tired and cold, Hogan pulled away quickly and turned around with glaring eyes. Expecting to see some stranger representing the resistance, what he saw instead was the very familiar face of his old friend David Samuel Cohen.

"Sam?" It couldn't be.

"Hey, Rob. Your German sounds a lot better than it did in high school. Of course, you were always more interested in the Kempler twins than in the books." His old pal Sam teased, shaking his hand and patting his back.

Instantly, Hogan's blood went from boiling to the comfortable warmth that only comes with fond memories.

"Yeah … well, it turns out the girls were pretty good German tutors. But you would have found that out yourself, if you weren't so afraid of girls." Hogan smiled.

"Well, those girls were scary!"

The two men laughed as they made their way inside to somewhat better conditions. Not much better, but better none the less. Realizing that they were in an abandoned farmhouse, deep within Germany and not relaxing at the local soda shop in Bridgeport, Connecticut, Hogan suddenly became serious.

"Okay, Sam. What the hell are you doing here? Last I saw you, you went off to some fancy college in California. UCLA wasn't it?"

"Stanford, actually. We've got a better football team …"

"Yeah, whatever. That still doesn't explain what you're doing here. This isn't exactly the place for a bookworm."

Sam smiled at the old nickname. Rob always called him that in jest but with a lot of affection. "Well, a lot has happened since then and I'd love to sit down and tell you all about my sordid life, but right now, Rob, we've got more important things to discuss."

Hogan agreed. "Shoot …" he stated, prompting Sam to start.

"Well, first off, I'm now a Major General, recently re-assigned from the pentagon to the Allied High Command, Medical Division."

Soaking this new information in, Hogan was beginning to see the importance of whatever this mission was. It was highly unusual for a general to personally participate in a covert operation, especially this far within enemy lines. And Sam was a scientist, a doctor. What would a doctor be doing out in the field? Categorizing this information in his head, he took a few minutes to offer overdue congratulations to his friend.

Sam accepting it then asked Hogan if he had heard of the other internment camps of the Third Reich. The look that suddenly took over Hogan's face darkened. "Yeah, I've heard of them. Dachau, Auschwitz …" his voice drifted off. "So, they're true, huh?"

Sadly, Sam confirmed their horrible existence and their sick purpose.

"And, I guess there's a correlation between these camps and you?" Hogan asked remembering Sam's Jewish background, but not yet understanding the connection.

"Sort of." Sam continued. "But the real reason I'm here though is that this mission is somewhat "unusual", personally important and very very risky … and I didn't want to relay this assignment to you via a third party. You needed to hear it directly from me, as a friend."

'Hmmm,' Hogan thought. 'Where's this going?' "Okay, what gives?"

"Germany has developed a new weapon in chemical warfare. A virus. A simple one really. But one that is very deadly, simple to make, easy to deliver, quick in its progression and exceptionally effective." Leaning forward, Sam looked Hogan straight in the eye. "It was developed, tested and perfected by doctors – and I use that term loosely – on the abundantly ready subjects found in those camps – those camps that supposedly don't exist." Sam paused, his eyes drifting off for a second. Hogan, too, looked away as he began processing the implications of that statement.

"What does the virus do?" Hogan asked.

"It's delivered as bacteria cultures, simply spread on food; with only a miniscule amount needed. Once the bacteria are ingested, it acts quickly, with the recipient developing symptoms similar to pneumonia and meningitis. Within hours, the victims develop severe headaches, extreme nausea, stomach cramps and sensitivity to light. A few hours more and they'll experience sharp, stabbing chest pains and a high fever with chills. A build up of fluid in the lungs will occur quickly. If the fever doesn't get 'em, as it most definitely will with small children and the elderly, the victims will eventually drown in their own fluids. According to the studies done, the test subjects who were infected died extremely painful deaths within one to two days of infection. The virus was 100% effective. Not one subject survived."

Hogan was quiet, despite the rage he felt inside.

"Imagine, Rob," Sam continued quietly, "…feeding hundred, thousands, millions of innocent hungry Jews, marching them to – maybe even having them dig their own graves, then just sitting back and watching them as they die within a few days. Simple, quick, effective. Don't even have to get your kraut hands dirty."

Both men sat saying nothing, lost in their individual visions of hell. Besides, what could be said of atrocity?

"But … " Hogan finally spoke. "They'll never get away with it. It's … it's too big of an undertaking … it's … it's…" he stumbled, grasping desperately at straws.

Sam shook his head and explained how the Japanese had already gotten away with it in Manchuria. Just a few years before, using scores of human subjects to test the lethality of various disease agents, including anthrax, cholera, typhoid and the plague, the Japs succeeded in killing over 10,000 innocent people. Once testing had been completed, another several hundred Chinese civilians were also killed. He explained how in October of 1940, the Japanese dropped paper bags filled with plague-infested fleas over the cities of Ningbo and Quzhou in Zheijian province; of how wells were contaminated and poisoned food was distributed to entire villages, even to starving children in schools. "What happened there, can easily happen here. And as we both know, the Germans are more than capable of doing it."

"Fortunately, Rob," Sam continued, "One of these German 'doctors' has enough decency in him to see the horror it could mean to all humanity and the need to act quickly to stop, or at least slow down, an impending genocide of the Jewish race. Dr. Konrad Zumwald was able to get a sample of the virus to the underground just a few days ago. Our scientists, myself included, worked around the clock and …, " Sam smiled triumphantly, "we were able to develop a vaccine. If we can get this vaccine back to Dr. Zumwald and he is able to distributed it to those scheduled for the next couple rounds of testing … basically, the ultimate hope is that the krauts will suddenly find the drug as ineffective, a failure and no longer a viable weapon of mass destruction, abandoning its use all together."

Hogan gave a weak smile. "And that's where I come in …"

"Yup, and that's where you come in."

The almost forgotten headache decided to make itself known again and made Hogan shut his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. "Okay, so, you somehow want me to get a vial of that vaccine to that doctor, right?" He asked resolutely.

But no answer followed. Hogan looked up with tired eyes. "Sam?"

"I wish it were that easy."

'Easy?!' Hogan thought. 'He's got to be kidding.'

Sam explained, "The ball is currently in Dr. Zumwald's court, so to speak. Since he's under such scrutiny since he got the virus to us, he's become very paranoid. And to be honest, I don't blame him. It's very difficult, virtually impossible to contact him, let alone get a vial of the vaccine in his hands. Intel tell us however, that he will be at Hammelburg Hospital this Friday to deliver a lecture on "medical research" to some high ranking medical officials in this area. That's four days from now. At that time, you will deliver a live sample of the vaccine directly to him. He's agreed to this and will be expecting you."

The words he was hearing began twirling around Hogan's head, and despite the headache that plagued him, he was starting to understand their true meaning. "Okay, and what exactly do you mean by a LIVE sample?"

Sam looked directly at his friend and explained slowly. "A live vaccine contains living pathogens. These pathogens invade cells within the body and use those cells to produce many copies of themselves, just as their more harmful counterparts would. Although these vaccines trigger a full immune response, there is a small risk of the virus evolving into more virulent strains. So, once a host has been infected with the live vaccine, and the immune response runs its course, a blood sample can then be taken and used to create more vaccine to …"

"Wait, wait, wait." Hogan interrupted. "Host? Immune response running its course? Forgive me Sam, I'm just a simple boy from Bridgeport. You're gonna have to explain it to me in simpler terms, 'cause if I'm getting it right …"

"Rob, we need you to be the host and to deliver the live vaccine in your blood."

"WHAT?!" Hogan jumped up from his seat.

Quickly, the other operatives rushed inside the farmhouse with guns drawn and ready.

"Whoa! Whoa! Its okay guys, I've got this under control." General Cohen said to his men. Not completely convinced all was safe, the men hesitantly retreated to their lookout spots.

Settling back down, Sam smirked. "See, I told you it was unusual."

Nonplussed, Hogan just sat there, shaking his head in disbelief.

There was only 20 minutes left before Hogan had to begin his trek back to Stalag 13, but in that short time, he finally agreed to the voluntary mission. It was crazy for sure, but the many innocent lives that could be saved became the only motivation he needed. Unfortunately, the vaccine had to be delivered in three stages, allowing the pathogens to invade his cells slowly, allowing Hogan's body to fight the virus and for it to run its course. That meant Hogan had to meet up with Sam again the next two nights for shots 2 and 3.

Sam ran down the list of symptoms Hogan would experience, assuring him that no matter how sick he would feel, it would not be fatal. This did little to relieve Hogan impending sense of doom. Yet, he rolled up his sleeve and allowed himself to be infected.


	3. Prison, Not a Luxury Hotel

Boy, ... I mean, Wow! I didn't think I'd be so thirsty (and sooooo appreciative) of all the feedback. You guys are great! And I apologize for enjoying all your writing for so many years with letting you know how feel. I promise I'll remedy that from here on out. THANKS again!

Under the Weather

Chapter 3: Prison, Not a Luxury Hotel

"Raus! Raus!" Sergeant Schultz could be heard approaching Barracks 2. Worriedly, the men stood up ready to go out for roll call.

"Mon Dieu. Colonel Hogan isn't back yet. What do we do Kinch?" LeBeau asked, concern written all over his face.

"I don't know. He should've been back by now." Kinch thought out loud. "I'll have to think of something. Come on, we better go before they come in here to get us." The prisoners spilled out of the building into the cold dawn air, complaining and lining up to be counted.

"Eins, svei, drei, vier …" Shultz counted half-heartedly as he moved down the line. Upon reaching Hogan's regular spot, he stopped confused. "Uh, where is Colonel Hogan?" He asked Kinch who stood nearby.

"He's not feeling well this morning Schultz and we didn't want to wake him."

"Yeah, Schultzie, the Gov'nor was up all night, sick as a dog." Newkirk threw in.

All men agreed, talking at once trying to convince the sergeant. And it looked as if they were going to be successful, until Kink appeared.

"Repoooooooooort!" The German colonel bellowed as he quickly walked across the compound. He, too, hated standing out in the cold, and blamed the prisoners for the need.

"Uh, all present and accounted for, Herr Kommandant!" Schultz yelled, snapping to attention, which lasted a good full two seconds, before he relaxed and let gravity take over his large frame again.

"Is that so, Schultz? Then, perhaps you can tell me WHERE IS COLONEL HOGAN?!"

Snapping back to attention, Schultz explained that the colonel was sick and still in bed. "Tsk, tsk. The poor man didn't sleep very well last night." Schultz said showing concern and pity.

"Oh, that's too bad. I know how that can be … " Klink started, then suddenly yelled, "SCHULTZ! This is a prison of war camp, not a luxury hotel. You will go in there and drag the colonel out here if need be! Now go!"

Mumbling "jawohls", Schultz began towards the barrack's door. Quickly, the prisoners jumped in front of him shouting excuses, while other guards rushed towards the commotion. Left unattended, this situation could have gotten out of hand, when suddenly the barrack's door flew open.

"No need to start a war within a war Schultz, I'm on my way." Hogan stated, as he walked out zipping up his bomber jacket and bringing the collar up against the chill.

"Nice of you to join us, Colonel Hogan. As you know, failure to make roll call can result in unpleasant disciplinary measures. I'm sure I don't have to remind you of this." Klink stated as Hogan took his spot. He approached the American prisoner, and studied his face closely – pale, sweaty and tired.

"Sorry, Kommandant. I'm just feeling a little under the weather today, and a little slow moving. My men were just trying to give me a few more minutes of sleep. Won't happen again, Sir." Hogan said somewhat quietly and uncharacteristically void of sarcasm. It was clear to Colonel Klink, that something was wrong with the American. But didn't feel like dealing with it now.

"See that it doesn't." Klink said, a little less forceful. "Dismissed."

As the men filed back into the barracks and surrounded the colonel, the questions began to fly regarding the meeting. Sitting down heavily at the center table, Hogan was not yet up to informing the men of what was going on. Unfortunately, the men persisted. Rubbing his temples, Hogan took a deep breath then yelled, "Look! I've been out all night, I just got back and I need a few minutes to sort things out." Sighing, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm gonna go get a little bit of shut-eye and once I wake up, I'll fill you all in. Okay? So back off. And that's an order."

Meekly, the men quietly said "Yes, Sir," and slowly backed away from their leader. Rubbing his head again, Hogan let out a small cough. 'Damn, it's starting to kick in now.' He thought.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw LeBeau pushing a plate of food in front of him. "Breakfast, mon colonel. Please, eat."

Looking at the food, Hogan's stomach did a sickening flip. He quickly turned away and hoped his face hadn't revealed that unpleasant "gut reaction". Unfortunately, it did. "Uh, no thanks LeBeau. I'm actually more tired than hungry." Getting up from the table he made his way towards his office and said, "Wake me if anything important comes up," before shutting his door.

"Blimey, what do you think that was all about?" Newkirk quietly asked the group.

"I don't know. But boy, the colonel sure does look sick for real, doesn't he?" Carter said out loud for everyone.

"Yeah, he did, but he could just be tired, too. I know I still am, and I wasn't out all night doing who knows what." Kinch reminded them all.

Everyone nodded and agreed to leave things as is. The colonel would fill them in when the right time came. All he needed was some rest … but unfortunately, it wasn't to be.

Two hours later, Sergeant Schultz walked in looking around. "Where is Colonel Hogan? Kommandant Klink wants to see him in his office."

"He went back to bed, Schultz. Can't it wait?" LeBeau pleaded. He really didn't want to wake the colonel if possible, his pasty face still fresh on his mind.

Schultz looked genuinely apologetic as he made his way to the colonel's door. "No, I'm sorry, Cockroach. The Kommandant was very clear he wanted to see Colonel Hogan immediately. So, please no monkey business."

Knocking, he received no answer. "Colonel Hogan?" He said softly, but again, no answer. Slowly, Schultz pushed open the door and walked into the small office, followed by four concerned looking prisoners.

Sprawled face down on the lower bunk, laid Colonel Hogan. It was obvious to all that he had simply thrown himself onto the bed and promptly passed out, as he was still fully clothed, including his jacket and his shoes. His feet were not fully on the bed and in his left hand was his hat, dangling off the side, just barely touching the ground.

Protectively, Kinch stood between Hogan and the German guard. "Look Schultz, he's exhausted. Can't you just leave him alone, maybe a few more hours at least?"

Just then, Hogan's slack hand dropped his hat to the floor, startling himself awake. Not yet aware of the crowd around him, he propped himself up onto one elbow and grimace at his sore body. With his now free left hand, he rubbed his chest and let out a small cough. Eyes still tightly closed, he rolled over onto his back he grabbed his head with both hands, groaning a little to what he thought was just himself. "Oh God," he said softly.

Finally opening his eyes, he was met by five other sets looking directly at his.

"Is there something I can do for you gentleman?" He asked confused.

"Colonel Hogan, Kommandant Klink would like to see you in his office right away, if you can, please?" Schultz said kindly.

The men once again began to protest, but stopped as they saw their leader stand up slowly from his bunk, holding onto the structure for support.

"Its okay fellas, I'm up anyway." Looking down for his hat, he absent-mindedly began rubbing his chest, letting out a few small coughs.

Quick to please, Carter grabbed his hat from the floor and handed it to the colonel smiling. "Here you go, sir."

"Thanks, Andrew." He said with a weak smile.

Worriedly, the men exchanged glances and watched him follow Shultz out the door.


	4. Sorry Kommadant, what were you saying?

I'm baaaaaack! Sorry everyone. Since you last heard from me, I unfortunately came down with a terrible case of the RLs. Yuck! But with some friendly "nudging" (thanks Linda) and the guilt-bites I've been getting from various plot-bunnies (they can be extremely vicious if left wild), I think I've been cured. Well, recovering at least. So, let's see if we can bring a certain colonel some well earned relief (after we sufficiently put him through the ringer first, of course ... hee hee.)

  
Under the Weather

Chapter 4: Sorry Kommadant. What were you saying?

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"Ah, Hogan! Please, have a seat," Klink smiled, gesturing towards the chair directly in front of his large ornate desk.

Trying not to look too relieved to be off his unsteady feet, Hogan gingerly sat, wondering what Klink was grinning about.

Standing up, Klink reached for a document on top of several piles of paper. "Hogan, I called you here today to share with you this letter I just received from General Burkhalter. It seems that I, because of my impeccable record and astounding reputation, have been chosen to be the lead speaker at the upcoming Luftstalag Kommadants' conference in Berlin this weekend." Unable to contain himself, Klink pranced around his office like a peacock. Of course, he neglected to add the fact that the kommadants of Stalags 1 through 12 had already turned down the offer, simply wanting to go the conference for the wine and women and the chance to live it up on the Third Reich's penny.

The look of pure joy on Klink's face made Hogan's stomach flip-flop once again.

"Uh, that's great Kommadant." Hogan's response was slow and unimaginative. He really didn't care about the German colonel's speech or anything else for that matter. All he wanted to do was to go back to bed. He was nauseous and the bright light in Klink's office was piercing his pounding head.

"Yes, it is indeed!" Klink smiled re-reading his letter for perhaps the 100th time. Caught up in his own glee, Klink was totally oblivious to Hogan's discomfort. "And, of course, I would like to give you the opportunity to help me write my speech."

'Of course.' Hogan said to himself.

"You are very good with words, Hogan, and I think you can best help me capture the true essence of my superior management skills." Klink was now standing in front of a small mirror and smiled, grooming himself. "You may not know this, Hogan, but I was once voted 'Junior Accountant of the Year' in all of Northeastern Leipzig." He neglected to add once again that his uncle was the sole judge of the contest. "So, how do you think I should begin? I have an excellent joke about an annual tax form being misfiled. It had them rolling on the floor in Leipzig. Or maybe I should start with a ... uh ..." Finally, Klink realized that the usually talkative American colonel, was unusually quiet.

Unfortunately, Colonel Hogan hadn't heard much of what the German had said. Preoccupied with his aches and pains, Hogan grimaced as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the hard wooden seat.

"Hogan?" Klink called, watching the man sitting across from him, head bent down, rubbing his eyes closed against an obvious headache. Klink thought to himself, 'Hmmm. He's even paler than just a few hours ago.'

"Hogan?" He said louder.

Blood-shot eye popped open, then immediately closed half-way. Hogan removed his hands from his temples and was about to say something, but broke out into a coughing fit instead that had him doubled over within seconds.

Klink jumped up and grabbed a glass of water from a nearby table. Offering it to Hogan, he could not help but notice the shaking hands that took the glass from him. Finally, Hogan's coughing settled as he breathed heavily.

"Uh, sorry Kommadant. What were you saying?" Hogan said quietly between breathes, as he leaned back, squinting his eyes against the winter sunlight streaming into the office.

"Hogan, you are obviously much sicker than I thought. Perhaps you should return to your barracks and have your medic attend to you." As concerned as he was, Klink quickly realized he may be showing too much sympathy towards the 'enemy'. As an after thought, he added, "To prevent you from infecting the rest of the camp, of course, and causing me undue stress filling out all the paper work that would create." He looked at Hogan one last time then quickly returned to the stacks of paper on his desk. "You're dismissed. We'll talk about this at a later time."

After a few seconds of just trying to catch his breath, Hogan simply nodded, slowly stood up and left to return to his beckoning bed.


	5. This Is What We Do

Ha! Suprise! Didn't think you'd get an update so soon, huh? Just thought I'd keep you all on your toes. Enjoy! (Hopefully, Chapter 6 will follow along shortly .... )

Under the Weather

Chapter 5: This is What We Do

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LeBeau unplugged the coffee-pot while turning to his companions. "Colonel Hogan is not well. Not well at all."

"No, he's not." Kinch answered back quietly.

Calling from his lookout spot at the barracks door, Carter shouted, "Here he comes!"

Carter opened the door wide and slowly Colonel Hogan entered the barracks and headed straight for his room, ignoring the concerned looks and questions of his men. He made a feeble attempt to close the door behind him, but Newkirk quickly stopped the door with his hand, opening it up in time for them to see Hogan gingerly lower himself onto his bed again, face down. As before, he still had his jacket and shoes on, and his feet hung over the side of the bed. Kinch, LeBeau, Newkirk and Carter slipped in quietly and looked at their leader closely, realizing that he had fallen asleep within seconds.

"Carter, go get Wilson." Kinch ordered.

Without a second thought, Carter quickly left for Barracks 5 in search of the camp's medic.

Newkirk knelt down beside the colonel's head and placed a hand on his shoulder. There was no response. "Blimey, he's out cold!"

Kinch joined Newkirk on the ground and gently shook the colonel's shoulder. "Colonel Hogan? Colonel Hogan? Can you hear me, Sir?"

Only a small moan escaped his mouth in response.

"What do you think is wrong with him, Kinch?" Newkirk whispered, even though at that moment, Hogan could probably sleep through a parade of tanks.

"I don't know, Peter. But he probably shouldn't have gone out last night. I should have stopped him."

"Qui, we all should have stopped him." LeBeau stated from the end of the bed where he was gently removing the colonel's shoes.

Deep down they knew that there was no way they could have stopped a determined Colonel Hogan, no matter how hard they tried. Yet, overwhelming guilt plagued them all.

Between the three of them, they succeeded in removing the colonel's coat, turning him over and settling him gently into bed. Amazingly, Colonel Hogan remained quiet the whole time. As they covered him with the thin blanket, he began to curl up on himself, suddenly taking on a chill. LeBeau felt his forehead then pouted worriedly. "Mon colonel has a fever."

Just then, the door to his office opened, letting in an angry looking Sergeant Wilson. "Damn. What did you guys do now? "

"Wilson. Thank God you're here." Kinch began, explaining the events that led up to the moment.

After examining Colonel Hogan for possible unknown injuries and asking specific questions, Wilson finally stood up from where he sat next to Colonel Hogan's bed to address the men who were still standing around. He had tried to make them leave the office earlier, but gave up after the fifth or sixth try.

"Well, I really can't tell without the proper equipment and tests, but it looks to me like the colonel is suffering from some kind of virus. From the sound of his lungs and by his symptoms, I'd say it's some form of pneumonia."

"But he got sick so fast? He seemed fine last night? Other than being tired ..." Carter asked.

"I don't know." Wilson shook his head, looking over at his patient. "It  
might be a particularly viral strain, one that acts quickly. Or he may have been having symptom for a while without any of you knowing it. We all know how well the colonel is in hiding things when it comes to his health. "

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"In any case, I think we should start him on some antibiotics right away. We really need to get this virus under control as soon as possible."

"Okay." Kinch said taking control. "Louis, how much penicillin do we have in stock?"

Before LeBeau could answer, a weak, but authoritative voice came from the lower bunk. "No. No drugs."

"Colonel!"

In blink of an eye, Wilson jumped into action, taking hold of Colonel Hogan's wrist, and began to take his pulse. "Sir, how do you feel?"

Covering his eyes with his free hand against the blinding light, Hogan said quietly, "Fine. I'm fine."

"Begging your pardon, Sir, but you are NOT fine. But if LeBeau can get me that penicillin now, we'll start getting you fixed up right away. "

"No!" Hogan said again, but much more forcefully, squinting into Wilson's eyes. "I said no drugs." Slowing down, he once again covered his eyes. "If you give me anything, it'll mess everything up. They said it has to run its course for it to work. So, just leave me be."

Completely confused, the men looked at one another with concerned expressions, confident their leader was delirious from his illness, crazy from exhaustion or both.

Slowly rising, despite the protest of his men, Hogan sat on the edge of his bunk, struggling to contain a cough. Dizzy, he kept his eyes closed for a few seconds more until finally looking up -- the best that he could against the blinding headache at least -- towards each man present, with a face that defied disagreement.

"Sir, you're very sick right now. "Wilson spoke as if to a slow child. "We're just going to give you a little shot and ..."

"DAMMIT, WILSON!" Hogan yelled, triggering a violent coughing spree. Immediately, he felt several sets of hands on him. Patting his back, rubbing his arms, trying to get him to lay back down. Yet, even before he could get it under control and catch his breath, he impatiently continued. "You ... will not ... give me any ... ANYTHING ... is that ... clear!" And to his surprise, his coughing became even worse.

Suddenly, Hogan found a glass of water shoved into his shaking hands. With some help, he lifted it to his mouth to drink and, to his and everyone's relief, he finally got his coughing under control.

Unsure of what was going on, everyone waited silently, with only the sound of Hogan's heavy breathing filling the air.

It was Kinch who finally spoke. "Sir, is there a reason you don't want us to treat you?" He asked trying not to sound as worried as he felt.

Sighing slightly, careful not to trigger any more coughing bouts, Hogan spent the next two hours explaining everything that had conspired the night before and placating the occasional outbursts with rational reasoning.

"I don't like it, Sir." Newkirk said at the end of Hogan's narrative. "Using you as a bloody guinea pig ... London's really gone off the deep end this time!"

"Yeah Boy, uh, I mean Sir. It's just not right. They're asking for way too much." Carter added.

Tiredly, Hogan responded. "No, Carter, it is right. Remember, this is what we do. And if we don't complete this mission – which is perhaps one of, if not THE most important mission we will have in this damn war – hundred, thousands, millions of innocent people will die." Hogan paused as he drove the point home. "Let's not forget, it's already been used ... and will continue to be used, specifically to wipe out an entire culture and race. And with all that at stake, I just wish we had more to offer than a few days of me feeling like crap."

No one said anything. Again, what do you say to atrocity?

As he did just hours before, in an abandoned farmhouse a few miles outside of camp, his men finally understood the full importance of what he was being asked to do, and somberly relented to the task.  
  



End file.
